A Gardener's Rose
by Broadway Magic
Summary: Sam comes to terms with his feelings for Rose Cotton (Pre-War)....and a potential competition. ((I had to remove and upload the story))
1. Default Chapter

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Disclaimer: Frodo's not mine, Sam's not mine *sighs*. Heh. Nobody belongs to me. The idea does, though! *Proud of that*. Let's see…Hm. Das bout it!

Story will get better soon, I promise! 

Sorry the first chapter is so short…it's a Prologue, really…

On with the Show!

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The Affections of Samwise Gamgee

"Another ale, please," Sam pushed his empty mug forward and graciously accepted another full one. Frodo took a seat next to the gardener, taking in the slow way Sam sipped at the froth, his eyes intent.

"Since when do you drink, Sam?" Frodo faced him with a curious expression.

"Since now," Sam replied without batting an eye. "Could I get you a drink, Mr. Frodo?" Frodo simply nodded, turning away only as a mug of ale slid into his hands.

"So," Frodo raised his eyes to meet Sam's, but succeeded in looking at the side of his face. "Sam."

"Yes, sir?" Sam's face relaxed into a smile.

"How long has this been going on?" Frodo inclined his head toward the object of Sam's attention. "Rose Cotton."

Rose Cotton.

Immediately, Sam's insides fluttered and warmed. Lovely Rose Cotton, with her rich dark curls, dancing eyes, and sensual mouth. Sweet Rosie, with her kind heart, soft voice, and laugh as clear as a bell.

"She is like a sorceress, sir," Sam said as he gazed into the depths of his ale. "A spell is cast over me. I cannot function in her presence, and I have not even said hello. I go weak in the knees, and my heart flips over."

"You have stars in your eyes, Samwise Gamgee," Frodo tilted his head back and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. "You truly fancy her."

"Aye." Sam nodded and inhaled deeply.

"So speak to her."

The suggestion seemed like the perfect solution. Sam would walk up, lean across the bar, compliment Rosie and smile. The conversation would be easy, without restriction. The night would wear on. Sam would charm the hobbit-lass, and he'd walk her home, bidding her farewell with a soft kiss on her perfect lips.

An uproar of laughter yanked Sam from his daydream. Frodo was standing, back rim rod straight, his hands clenched into fists at his side.

"You there, Ted Sandyman!" Frodo said firmly, his blue eyes dark with anger. "Take your laughter someplace else!"

"And leave the sorry scene of a daydreaming Gamgee?" Ted roared. "I always knew he was a softie!" Sam's face flamed. He had spoken aloud! And of his innermost feelings and desire. He didn't dare look at Rosie.

"You'd best be leaving now, Sandyman," Frodo's voice was steely.

"You would think so, Master Baggins," Ted chuckled. "But I've every right to take my ale here, just the same as you." He was right, but Frodo clenched his jaw. 

"Come on, Sam," Frodo turned toward his friend. "Let's….Sam?" He looked around.

Sam was nowhere in sight.


	2. Late Night Understandings

Thanks to all you reviewers!!! *grins*

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On with the show!

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Chapter 2:

Darkness settled over Hobbiton, with it the scent of fresh pies and murmuring tones of families after dinner.

Samwise Gamgee was normally experiencing such activities at night. Instead, he sat with his back agaist The Green Dragon, his knees drawn to his chest. His breath came out in this puffs, reminding him of the pipeweed he could be enjoying with Mr. Frodo.

Mr. Frodo.

Sam shifted uneasily. In his haste to flee the laughter, he'd forgotten Mr. Frodo. 

He must be worried, Sam mused. But Ted Sandyman's voice rang out from inside. Sam pressed his ear to the back door.

"…spineless, he is…Baggins….lost puppy!" This was followed by scattered chuckles, There were loud kissing sounds, and more laughter. Sam pulled away from the door, anger an humiliation burning in his blood.

Why did he run? The question entwined itself in Sam's mind. Sam tried to shrug it off, but failed. He ran…Was he spineless, as Ted claimed? He didn't want to believe that anything Ted Sandyman said about him was right. He pulled his coat tighter around him, deciding it was best to head home. Perhaps some pie was left…Mum made the best peach cobbler. The thought warmed him.

"Rotten scoundrel! Mind your manners before coming round here again!"

It was Sam's only warning before he was drenched and icy cold. He turned slowly, his wet curls plastered to his head. Before him stood Rose Cotton, a large bucket in her hands, her face stunned.

"Oh," was all she said. "Oh."

"Well, I'll be goin,'" Sam mumbled, lowering his eyes.

"Not in this chill, all wet and cold!" Rosie found her voice. "Come, have something hot and dry up."

"I really had better…"

"Samwise." Her voice, firm yet persuasive, sent a thrill through Sam's body, and he complied willingly.

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Sitting in silence over a cup of tea, Sam sipped the hot liquid thoughtfully/

"Miss. Cotton," Sam began.

"Rosie."

"Miss Rosie," Sam amended. "Why DID you dump water on me?" Rosie studied him for a moment, then tossed her head back and laughed the clear, rich laugh he loved.

"I thought you were Ted Sandyman, comin' back for his sweet talkin'. I am truly, truly sorry." Rosie's smile faded, and she flipped a wet curl playfully from Sam's forehead. Sam blushed to the roots of his hair, but didn't pull back. "I wanted to teach him a lesson."

"Aye." Sam nodded. "I can see where that would lead." He paused as her words sunk in. "So…you heard." Rosie's expression softened, and she nodded. Sam felt as though he was shrinking. He felt tiny. He wanted to curl into a ball and stay there. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option. He could either make a run for it…or face the facts.

"You know, Sam," Rosie smoothed the folds of her skirt. "May I call you Sam?" Sam nodded, and Rosie continued. "If it makes it any better…"

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I doubt that's possible, Sam thought miserably.

Rosie went on. "I think…what you said…" she paused. "That was incredibly romantic. It's hard to find such gentle-hobbits nowadays. You have a good heart, Sam. Don't think I don't see. You're something special."

"Thank you," Sam said softly, rising to rinse out his empty mug. Rosie followed him with her eyes. Was it her, or was Sam carrying himself a little more proudly? His shoulders were back, his chin lifted a little higher. His eyes held a glimmer, his lips curved in a slight smile. His hands were brown and calloused from work. Yes, this was a different kind of Sam Gamgee.

"I have a slice of pie I brought from home, if you'd like," Rosie offered.

"No, thank you," Sam shook his head. "I'm all warm and dried up. I'm going to go." His eyes met hers, warm and gentle. 

"Have a good night," Rosie said. Sam nodded.

"G'night, Miss. Rose," Sam walked slowly off.

"Night, Mr. Gamgee," Rosie whispered, leaning against the door. As she locked The Green Dragon up for the night, her eyes grazed over something on the table.

Sam's coat.

Grabbing it, she dashed outside.

"Sam!" she caught up to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. He turned, the smirk on his face uncharacteristically not Sam's.

"Miss. Cotton. I never expected you to make the first move." Ted Sandyman grinned at her in the dark. He grasped her wrist, and pulled her close. The scent of liquor was on his breath.

"Mr. Sandyman," Rosie pulled back, her eyes glittering in the night.

"Yes, Rosie love?"

"Good night, Mr. Sandyman," Rosie said with controlled calm. Ted bowed and swaggered off.

"Yes," Sam murmured from his place behind a tree. "Good night, Ted Sandyman."


End file.
